


Maybe Someday

by lossie



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Drunk Elves just because I can, Everything is Complicated, F/M, Politics, Romance, Self-Discovery, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-12 03:32:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3341972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lossie/pseuds/lossie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Taking a deep breath to prepare herself for what boded to be a very long and eventful night, she took a seat next to the king." Thranduil/Tauriel, post BOTFA AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Elves cannot get drunk (in theory, at least), but I thought it would be fun to play with the idea. After all, what can be more entertaining than Thranduil under the influence of alcohol and Tauriel as his very sober companion? ;) That being said, I hope you will have a good time reading it. The story was inspired a little bit by Avril Lavigne's "Give You What You Like", as the song really fits the mood of it, being both playful and quite serious at the same time.
> 
> There will be more chapters, of course, but I have no idea how much exactly, since I'm writing this fic as I go. You should expect part 2 by the end of next week though. Feel free to harass me if I'm late with the update ;)
> 
> I would also like to remind you that I'm taking Thranduil/Tauriel fanfic requests , so don't hesitate to write me, if you have something in mind for those two!
> 
> Please, remember to comment and leave kudos. Your support and feedback mean a lot to me and make me want to write even more! :)

“ _Please wrap your drunken arms around me_  
_And I’ll let you call me yours tonight_  
_'Cause slightly broken is just what I need_  
_And if you give me what I want,_  
_Then I’ll give you what you like_ ”  
-Avril Lavigne, “Give You What You Like”

 

* * *

 

 

In the few centuries of her life, Tauriel had faced many obstacles and challenges on the way to achieving a certain goal. Some were easier than the others, some proved to be quite tedious and some seemed simply pointless, although they all usually helped her in a way, no matter how small and insignificant said help would seem at the very beginning.  
  
However, taking care of a drunk King Thranduil would probably find its place somewhere on top of the list of things she would have liked to never have a questionable pleasure of experiencing. There was absolutely no merit in it whatsoever, no valuable experience to gain, and she could have lived without the knowledge of how much wine her king could consume without passing out. As it was, she had no other choice but to play his glorified babysitter, because Galion, who was supposed to take care of the matter instead of her, was already soundly asleep after drinking himself into a stupor. Normally the duty would fall to Legolas, but the prince was somewhere in the North at the moment, doing Valars-only-knew what, and thus was sadly unable to take the burden off Tauriel’s shoulders.  
  
Thranduil could hold his wine remarkably well, even on an empty stomach, but three jugs of Dorwinion was pushing it and it has made him even more of a nuisance than usual. It was _Mereth Nuin Giliath_ , so she understood the need to celebrate, though, in her opinion, there was a huge difference between making merry and trying your very best to empty the wine cellar. There were drunk elves everywhere, since the night was still young, and only the on-duty guards, Tauriel included, were sober. For some reason though it didn’t seem right to dump the responsibility of handling the very intoxicated king to someone else, so she had delegated her second-in-command, Faenor, to watch over the feast while she had resigned herself to pursuing Thranduil, who had somehow managed to sneak out of the feast hall at some point during the evening with a jug of wine.  
  
Right now he was sitting on one of the platforms on the lower levels of the fortress and swinging his legs over the edge of it like an elfling of fifty with the goofiest and most ridiculous grin on his face. It was a good thing that he seemed to be a very happy drunk, because she had absolutely no idea what she would have done if she had found him in a less jubilant mood. Thankfully, he had left his sword and crown on his throne, which she counted as a blessing. There would have been hell to pay if he had lost one or the other, and Tauriel had enough things to worry about as it was without having to search for the royal insignia all around the King’s Halls. At least she knew he still had some wits about him. Not that it helped her much in any case.  
  
Taking a deep breath to prepare herself for what boded to be a very long and eventful night, she took a seat next to the king. He turned to look at her and his smile widened, if it was even possible at this point.  
  
“Good evening, Tauriel,” he said to her before returning to whatever he had been doing earlier when she had been still busy looking for him. She noted that his cheeks dimpled when he was smiling like that and, to her utter astonishment, found it to be rather charming. Shaking this very disturbing thought away, she focused on the jug of wine that he was holding onto for dear life, making a mental note to take it from him as soon as possible.  
  
“Evening, my lord,” she murmured for a lack of a better thing to respond with. “How fare thee?”  
  
“Truly marvellous!” He shifted so he could now see her without turning around. “And how do you fare this fine eve, Tauriel?”  
  
“Slightly less marvellous.”  
  
For some reason he seemed deeply troubled by her statement as his brows furrowed and his smile fell a little.  
  
“We cannot have that!” He proclaimed with conviction, pressing the jug of wine into her hands without hesitation. “A drink of fine wine would surely brighten your mood.”  
  
She eyed the object in her hands with a mixture of disgust and wonder. The rather unexpected gesture took one of her problems away, since now she didn’t need to rip it from the king’s fingers, but it also put another obstacle in her way. Thranduil was looking at her expectantly and she knew she needed to take at least a small sip to avoid any potential quarrels, but she wasn’t really willing to do it. There were times when she enjoyed a small goblet of wine, though she very rarely did so in the company of others. It was not an easy task for an elf to get drunk as their metabolisms were fast. However, wine got to Tauriel’s head awfully fast. It probably had something to do with her slender and small body.  
  
Alas, there was little choice to be made and so she took a solid swing from the jug, cringing at the strong taste and the burning sensation as the brew slid down her throat. She wiped her lips with the back of her hand when she was done, putting the jug out of Thranduil’s reach in the process. He didn’t seem to pay much attention to it as his eyes seemed to be focused solely on her face, almost set ablaze by some emotion she couldn’t quite describe. For a long moment they held each other’s gazes, but then he blinked and the burning intensity in his eyes disappeared, dissipated like fog in the face of forceful Northern winds.  
  
A scream almost tore its way out of her mouth when the king promptly dropped onto his back to the ground a split second later, his legs still dangling over the edge of the platform. She moved to his side immediately, her hands hovering over him and yet not touching. There were boundaries she had never crossed with the Elvenking, though there were times in the past when she had yearned to slap him. She had never dared to raise her hand against him though, not until the Battle of the Five Armies at least, when she had not only raised her hand, but also her bow. The memory made her cringe to this day, especially considering the fact that he had lifted her banishment and allowed her to return to the Halls as if nothing had happened. Still, it somehow seemed improper to touch the king in any manner at all, even to check if he was still breathing. His eyes were closed, his expression still brightened by a smile, but he was motionless, as if made out of stone, and she couldn’t help but fear for his wellbeing.  
  
“I might have overindulged myself tonight.”  
  
His voice was quiet and somewhat pained, as if speaking wasn’t exactly the easiest thing for him to do at the moment.  
  
“I can see that.” There was sarcasm somewhere in her voice, but he probably didn’t even notice. “You have drank three jugs of wine and ate close to nothing, Sire.”  
  
He opened one eye a fraction to look at her before closing it again.  
  
“You are worse than my son,” he said after a moment of silence and the sheer ridiculousness of that statement made her chuckle.  
  
“Why am I worse exactly?” She decided to ask as she laid down next to him, deciding that there was no harm in it. Her head was starting to spin, since she was not used to drinking Dorwinion, and the cold stone floor looked very inviting at the moment.  
  
“He simply follows me in silence until I tire enough to go with him,” he disclosed to her as he turned his head in her direction and opened his eyes so he could look at her. The light blue of his irises looked incredibly bright even when his lids were lowered. “You, on the other hand, are very annoying and… _districting_.” He stressed the last word in such a way that it sounded as if he was mildly annoyed by its mere existence. “And you have also approached me instead of hiding away in the shadows.”  
  
It was hard to say what he meant, but Tauriel got a feeling both statement s about her were compliments, if two very different ones. She rose on her elbow so she could see him better and he turned his head as she moved, the strange glint from before returning to his eyes at once.  
  
“My lord?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Is it true…” She hesitated for a moment. “Is it true that there will be war upon us soon?”  
  
It had been bothering her greatly as of late. Many travellers and merchants she had encountered in the last few years talked about a shadow which grew in the South. She had long known about the darkness of Dol Guldur, but she doubted they were talking about the old fortress or what evil resided there. Their hearts were filled to the brim with fear, as if they were certain that death was almost upon them. Men were breakable beings, she knew, but she had seen the same fright in the hardened eyes of Dwarves and it was enough to worry her.  
  
Waiting patiently for his response, she slowly run the tips of her fingers over his white-golden hair as it was pooled around him like a halo of sunlight. It was cool and silken to the touch and, after a moment of internal debate, she dared to simply run her fingers through it. The king didn’t seem to be bothered by it in the slightest, which made her bolder and, soon enough, her fingertips were brushing against his temple ever so often as she smoothed his fair hair away from his face. He leaned into her touch and closed his eyes, apparently quite content with her ministrations.  
  
“It is a possibility,” he finally said, his voice a low murmur. “Elrond’s pity is the cause of this, though he will never admit it. The One Ring should have been destroyed that day, but he let Isildur walk away with it as if it was any other piece of jewellery… But dwelling on it will not change what had happened that day, I suppose. It is all in the past now.”  
  
She nodded in understanding even though he couldn’t see it.  
  
“Tauriel, sweet Tauriel…” She heard him whisper softly as he pulled her hand away from his temple and brought it to his lips, laying a brief kiss on her open palm.  
  
Startled by the intimacy behind the gesture, she withdrew from his abruptly and stood up, taking a few steps to put some distance between them. She flexed her fingers, her body rigid with tension, as she observed him. He did not move for a while, but then he was up and in front of her in a blink of an eye, so close she could feel the heat radiating off his imposing frame.  
  
“M-my lord,” she stuttered, taking a few more steps backwards, only to halt when her back hit one of the pillars surrounding the platform a moment later. A soft gasp escaped her lips when she realized she was trapped.  
  
He advanced on her slowly, taking his time and seemingly unbothered by her fearfulness. When he was once again a hair’s breadth away from her, he gently cradled her head in his large hands. Her eyes were squeezed shut and her body shook like a leaf in either anticipation or fear, but she hardly knew which one anymore.  
  
“Look at me,” he commanded, but she refused to yield. His thumbs brushed over her cheekbones in a gentle caress and she realized that the gesture was not purposeless as hot tears were running down her face, a sure sign of her distress. “Open your eyes, sweet one, and look at me.”  
  
There was something in the lilt of his voice, something soft and yet desperate at the same time, and so she obeyed him without much thought, her eyes fluttering open. Her vision was blurry with tears for a moment, but when she blinked them away, she could see him clearly and the sight of him took her breath away.  
  
He still had that blazing look in his eyes, but now it was even more potent, making his irises glow even when his face was hidden in shadows, partially obscured by his long golden hair. His entire frame seemed to emit light as well. He was a star on the night sky, but somehow brighter and more dangerous, eternally beautiful in the most alluring of ways. She had known him to be gorgeous before, of course, though she had never imagined he could be just so fierce and glorious in his grace. Her eyes strayed from his intense gaze, settling on his parted lips for a few seconds before she looked back up, positively mortified by her reactions to his touch.  
  
“I have thought about you,” he said as he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers. His breath smelled of sweet wine, which reminded her that he was still under the influence of alcohol and probably only partially aware of what he was saying and doing. Yet his words still made her heart beat wildly in her chest, something akin to excitement almost threatening to overwhelm her. “I think about you still. I cannot stop. You are in my mind, in my soul, and in my heart, Tauriel. Always. Like a flame that cannot be extinguished. I have tried… Valars only know, I have tried to free myself from you, sweet one, but it is all but impossible.”  
  
“My lord, I…” Tauriel whispered, her voice almost too quiet to be heard. She had no words to say at this point, no thoughts to share. Her mind was an entanglement of utter confusion. What she felt for her king – what she had always felt for him in secret, in the safety of her soul and heart – was not proper. It was a sinful emotion, born out of admiration and many lonely loveless nights. There was naught she could offer him, for she was, as he had told her time and time again, just a lowly Silvan elf.  
  
“You do not want to pledge yourself to me,” she finally said. Fresh tears gathered in her eyes, but she blinked them away. “I have nothing to offer you, nothing to give…”  
  
“It is just you, Tauriel, as you stand here before me, that I want,” was his response. She could see the corners of his mouth lift into a soft smile. “Nothing more, nothing less.”  
  
“You are out of your wits.”  
  
“I’m not.”  
  
“You must be,” she said brokenly, almost pleadingly, unable or unwilling to believe that he was honest in his declaration. “Otherwise…”  
  
“Otherwise my words would be true and the truth in them terrifies you. Why?”  
  
Of course it terrified her! How could it not? He had never even hinted that he felt anything for her, besides respect for her skill and dedication to her work. Then again, his unexpected pardon after her betrayal had raised a few eyebrows among the elves of Mirkwood’s court and a countless amount of questions inside Tauriel’s head. Thranduil was not a king prone to giving second chances left and right, and yet he didn’t hesitate to give it to her, even after she had all but threatened to take his life. Was it because of his feelings? Was there truly something in his ice cold heart that was still alive and warm? Was she the cause of it?  
  
“Because you cannot possibly love me, my lord.”  
  
“And yet I do,” he said firmly. “Most adoringly and passionately.”  
  
He kissed her then, hungrily and hard, as if he was starving and she was the only thing that could quench his hunger, and he tasted like every dark thought she has ever had. The sweetness of wine was still strong on his tongue as he tasted her, abandoning any pretence at decorum. It was not a kiss of a shy lover, not a press of lips against lips that was innocent in its simplicity. This was an inferno of suppressed lust and raging love, the very essence of Thranduil’s being delivered to her in the most intense manner possible. He did not hesitate to push her harder against the pillar, letting go of her face and hooking her legs over his hips in one smooth motion. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders. One of her hands fisted in the material of his outer robe right between his shoulder blades while the other was buried in his hair at the nape of his neck, her fingers entwined in the silken strands and tugging at them every so often.  
  
They changed the angle, gasping for breath when they parted for a brief moment. Then, after another bruising kiss, his lips left hers, moving swiftly along the line of her jaw and, from there on, further down, until they found their new purpose at the base of her throat. She gasped when he bit the sensitive skin there, softening the terse pain with his warm lips but a second later.  
  
The sound made her startle and she realized with a start that they were still on the platform in plain view. With much difficulty, she pulled Thranduil’s head away from her neck.  
  
“We should go somewhere else,” she said, her eyes darting around as if expecting someone to appear suddenly from around the corner. She didn’t miss the amused look he send her, though he seemed to agree with her at least to some degree, because he let her go.  
  
Her legs quivered under her weight. She took a few deep breaths to steady herself, vaguely aware that the king was laughing softly at her predicament. When she was finally able to move without risking an impromptu meeting with the stone floor, Thranduil took her hand and lead her up one of the staircases. She followed him quietly, knowing quite well that he was taking her to his private rooms, because she had walked this path many times before in the previous centuries, though never for this particular purpose.  
  
On one occasion they have almost crossed paths with a group of four guards that were escorting a few drunk members of the court to their quarters. It was solely due to Thranduil’s surprisingly fast reflex that they weren’t seen, as he had somehow managed to pull them into a dark alcove a split second before the group rounded the corner. As they waited for them to pass by, she was acutely aware of their close proximity. Pressed against his body in the tight space with little to no room between them made her very aware of the fact that he was very much anticipating what was to come once they reached his rooms. She felt the hard evidence of his desire pressed against her lower abdomen and her cheeks flushed, when he looked at her, a devious smile stretching across his face when he took notice her slight discomfort. He bend down as much as he could, sealing their lips in a brief, but searing kiss.  
  
After they were sure the guards and their charges were far enough, which took some time, considering the inebriated state of the later, they pressed on and managed to arrive at the doorstep of Thranduil’s quarters within minutes. Drunk on both wine and her newly awaken feelings for the Elvenking, she followed after him into his rooms without much thought, shivering despite herself at the prospect of spending the night in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Mereth Nuin Giliath - The Feast of Starlight


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You’re going to hate me a little after reading this chapter. I just know it. Alas, it cannot be helped, so I will try to survive it ;)  
> The good news is that I’ve managed to write down the entire plot of this story (yay!), so the updates should be more frequent from now on. I still have classes to attend though and other stories to busy myself with, so it may take some time. I hope you won’t mind the wait too much.  
> Just a fair warning: there will be quite A LOT OF SMUT in this chapter, so if it’s not exactly your thing, feel free to skip the raunchy bits ;)  
> If you happen to actually like this chapter by some miracle, please don’t hesitate to leave a comment/review! I love hearing from you, guys! :)  
> Enjoy!

“ _Please tell me I’m your one and only_  
 _Or lie, and say it at least tonight_  
 _I’ve got a brand new cure for lonely_  
 _And if you give me what I want,_  
 _Then I’ll give you what you like_ ”  
\- Avril Lavigne, “Give You What You Like”

* * *

 

“So this is it? Where the king of Mirkwood sleeps?” Tauriel commented quietly as she stood in the centre of Thranduil’s spacious bedchamber, unsure what to do with herself at this point.  
  
She was fidgeting with the edge of her green tunic, feeling incredibly awkward all of a sudden, and there were thousands of questions running through her head as she looked around, trying to distract herself with the beauty of the room. It was open and airy with tall windows that reached from the floor to the ceiling and covered an entire wall. They let in the silvery light of the moon and stars, making the otherwise dark chamber a bit less foreboding. The hearth in the far back had been lit some time ago and the fire was slowly dying, its glow barely visible, and an occasional snap of the burning wood hardly loud enough to be heard, even in the slightly deafening silence.  
  
She had never been here before, as the king took audiences with his most trusted subjects in the antechamber or in his study if it even happened within his chambers at all. However this was his private space, a hidden part of the fortress that only selected few could enter, and Tauriel had a hard time believing that she had been invited here by him. It seemed to be too much and too soon, and she found herself wishing that they had come to her rooms instead just so she could feel more grounded.  
  
The king, on the other hand, seemed to be completely at ease as he moved to his desk and poured them a glass of sweet rose water each. She accepted the glass from his hands and took a sip, her eyes locked with his. His gaze was still as alight with passion as before, which made her shiver. The declaration of his love had been so impromptu and unexpected that she still wondered if it wasn’t just a clever ploy to get her into his bed. It had sounded sincere though, which probably surprised her even more.  
  
How was it possible that she had been oblivious to his feelings for such a long time? Was she that obtuse or was he simply that good at keeping his feelings hidden?  
  
“And reads, and writes...” He smiled at her as he responded, breaking her out of the confines of her troubled mind. “Finds a few moments to himself each day.”  
  
“And yet you have invited me here,” she said, disbelief colouring her voice. Her hands shook as she brought the glass to her lips once again to take another sip of the sweet drink in a futile attempt to calm herself somewhat.  
  
“Aa.” Thranduil took the glass from her hands and put it beside his own on the small table to their left, which held a decorative vase full of fresh flowers. They filled the room with a scent of summer, even though the season has already passed. “That is only because I like and trust you, sweet one.”  
  
A blush spread over her cheeks at his words.  
  
“You hardly know me, my lord.” She looked to the side and concentrated on the embroidery on the collar of his robe with such intensity as if it was the most interesting thing within her line of sight. “We spend little time with each other and when we do happen to meet, you shun me or ignore my presence entirely.”  
  
“You would be surprised by the amount of attention I give you, Tauriel,” Thranduil murmured in a somewhat distracted manner, his fingers gently caressing her face. “I am lied to a hundred times a day, Tauriel… Petitioned, lobbied, consulted on the matters of state. One learns how to see underneath the underneath, how to decipher a face.” He made her look at him once again by slightly lifting her chin and the hunger she saw shining in his eyes was almost enough to make her forget about the world. “Yours is like the sun. Bright. Clear. Unique. Beautiful in the most captivating of ways. One shouldn’t gaze too long or else they will be lost forever…”  
  
She was lost for words and he could see it clearly, for he laughed and bent down to lay a butterfly kiss on the upturned tip of her nose.  
  
“My flattery makes you uncomfortable. Should I stop?”  
  
Tauriel smiled despite herself, shaking her head at his silliness.  
  
What was she supposed to do with this new king, who seemed content to jest and flirt, and praise the very ground she walked on?  
  
She knew naught about love, had never been courted in her life, and the only experience she had with relationships was with the physical aspects of them as she had been more than eager to engage in acts of carnal pleasure in her youth. As she had told him before, she had nothing to offer him and yet he still seemed adamant in his pursuit, completely unbothered by her indecisiveness.  
  
In a moment of boldness, she rose on her tiptoes and kissed him lightly on the corner of his lips. She moved away a friction to gauge his reaction and his expression was one of wonder, mixed with something she couldn’t fully comprehend. There was no time for her to ponder over it more as he took the opportunity to draw her closer to him before she could slip any further away. He kissed her in much the same manner as he had done on the platform, stealing the very breath from her lungs.  
  
The way in which he kissed was akin to nothing she has ever experienced with her previous lovers. He was dominant and unyielding like a raging storm, but still somewhat gentle and mindful of what she wanted and liked. It was a wonderful contradiction in a splendidly divergent being who was unlike any other she had ever encountered and maybe it was because of this unique quality to everything he did that she felt so compelled to bend to his wishes, if only by a fraction.  
  
His nimble fingers made a quick work of the laces of her leather bodice, freeing her from the restraint of her light armour with practiced ease which both excited and alarmed her. Her tunic fell to the ground shortly afterwards, leaving her bare from waist up in front of him.  
  
Just how many ellith had been in her position over the years, swayed by his silver tongue to do his bidding, she wondered briefly.  
  
A few dozen?  
  
A few hundred?  
  
Was it even important when he could make her moan by simply brushing his fingers against the newly exposed skin of her taunt stomach as he dragged them upwards in a painstakingly slow caress? Or render her speechless with a feather-light kiss at the juncture of her throat? Did it matter how many had shared his bed when he was capable of leaving her breathless by simply pinching one of her perked nipples? How could it bother her at all when he seemed content to give her pleasure without asking for anything back and yet allowing her to do as she pleased with him when she finally gathered enough courage to reach for him in return?  
  
She helped him out of his golden robe and took her own sweet time touching his well-defined chest with trepidation that it will all soon turn out to be just a dream.  
  
Thankfully, it was real and not a mere product of her imagination.  
  
His skin tasted just as good as it smelled. The sounds he made as she bit into his shoulder while twisting his nipples between her finger aroused her beyond belief, forcing a breathy moan out of her mouth in a moment before they kissed again.  
  
They battled for dominance, as Tauriel was too stubborn to simply give in this time around, and fumbled with the remaining parts of their clothing as they were unwilling or unable to break apart from each other even for even a few precious seconds.  
  
“What are you doing?” She asked when his lips left hers and he started to lay soft kisses on her neck, shoulder, collarbone, and in the valley between her breasts, before descending even lower.  
  
Her eyes widened when he kneeled in front of her.  
  
There was something empowering about seeing him on his knees with one of her legs swung over his shoulder and she almost missed the wicked smile he send her as she admired the view. Somehow he had never looked more beautiful than in that moment.  
  
“Ladies first, “ was his vague answer as he inclined his head, his voice low and somewhat devilish. She didn’t catch his meaning straight away, but when he pressed his lips against her already moist centre, she understood him perfectly and agreed with his statement wholeheartedly.  
  
One of his hands, which was holding her raised thigh in a vice-like grip, was the only things keeping her upright as his skilful tongue swept against her folds, swirled slowly over her clitoris, and plunged into her over and over again. She held his hair tightly as he continued his ministrations, gasping for breath and panting heavily at the overpowering sensation of pure pleasure. A cry tore its way from her throat when he put two fingers inside her, curling them slightly and, by doing so, hitting just the right spot.  
  
She came but a moment later, almost falling to the floor in the aftermath of her orgasm, since she was hardly able to remain standing when her entire body felt like it had just been torn into pieces in the most delicious of ways.  
  
Thranduil stood up swiftly and hoisted her up just before she could fall, and then her back hit stone for the second time that evening. One of his hands held her wrists tightly against the rough surface of the wall while the other positioned him at her entrance. They locked eyes a moment before he pushed himself inside her in one smooth motion, making her gasp and arch as he filled her entirely. She let herself go as they started to move, her thighs tightening around his hips every time he pulled out almost completely only to then draw himself deep inside her, trying in vain to force him to stay where he was for just a second longer.  
  
At one point he freed her hands and she took the opportunity to run them through his hair a few times before fisting them at the nape of his neck so she could hold onto something while he took her closer and closer to the edge once again. His hot breath fanned against her neck, which he would bestow with kisses every now and again in-between loud groans. Her lips were mostly pressed against the side of his head or his temple as she tried to keep herself from screaming his name into the skies above with little to no success.  
  
It didn’t take them long to reach the peak and Tauriel was the first one to go. She was momentarily blinded by the sheer force of her second orgasm, but she had enough sense about her to continue squeezing her inner muscles around Thranduil’s length even then, which made him come not too long after her.  
  
She had no idea how they had managed to make their way to the bed. They all but collapsed onto the soft lines, breathing heavily and still wrapped in each other’s arms. Exhaustion made Tauriel drowsy and so she barely took notice when Thranduil shifted their position, so they were more comfortable, and put the covers over their naked bodies.  
  
“No one has ever made me come undone like this,” Thranduil whispered into the juncture of her neck, kissing it lightly afterwards. “You are truly exquisite.”  
  
“I’m glad to be of service, my lord,” was her barely audible reply. She was only vaguely aware of the soft rumble of his laughter as she fell asleep, her arms wrapped securely around his shoulders.

-o-o-o-

The sensation was strange – something between itching and tickling, but not nearly as uncomfortable or unpleasant, just mildly irritating. It was back and gone, and then back again and it reminded her of the awful feeling when you know that you’re about to sneeze, but then the horrible prickling in your nose goes away for a bit only to come back a moment later when you least expect it.  
She shifted, trying to get rid of it, but it didn’t abide, through there seemed to be a slight pause before it came back full force.  
  
Tauriel blinked grudgingly, taking in a sharp breath as she stretched a little. Her spine gave a loud pop and she cringed. She absolutely hated the sound of snapping bones. It reminded her too much of the Battle of the Five Armies, the memory of its horrors still fresh in her mind and ready to resurface at any given moment.  
  
The grimace of discomfort froze on her face before transforming into a look of mute shock when she felt the bed move underneath her seemingly on its own accord. At the same time she also realized that she was wrapped in someone’s arms rather intimately and that she was stark naked, much like the other occupant of the bed which wasn’t even hers, since she certainly didn’t own a king sized mattress that could easily accommodate four or five adult elves.  
  
A king sized mattress.  
  
A king’s bed.  
  
The king.  
  
“Oh sweet Eru,” she whispered as she dared a glance over her shoulder, coming face to face with a rather disheveled Thranduil, who was miraculously still asleep.  
  
The memories of their night of passion came to her all at once, making her skin flush in embarrassment. She had been so wanton, so shameless in her actions that it terrified her. It was not the way she usually acted and certainly not the way in which she would have behaved had she been sober, which filled her with no small amount of shame. Then again the king had matched her in that lustful haze they had fallen prey to, devouring her as if she was the very essence of his life. A wave of desire shot through her body as she remembered the way in which he had touched her and the words he had spoken to her, and how good it had felt to be handled with such care and immeasurable amount of love. A breathy moan of longing escaped her lips at the mere thought before she could force it down.  
  
Thranduil’s arms tightened around her and she felt his lips move against the nape of her neck as he slowly woke up from his deep slumber. She didn’t dare move as he came to his senses, afraid of his reaction to her presence, but to her utter surprise he didn’t seem to be bothered by it at all. He continued to kiss her neck, moving his lips over to her exposed shoulder and back again.  
  
“'Quel amrun, lirimaer,” he greeted her quietly, his voice still thick with sleep and deeper than usual.  
  
Tauriel had a few ideas about what this morning was and none of them were even remotely close to being positive.  
  
“Morning, hir vuin,” she replied with as much enthusiasm behind her words as she could muster, which wasn’t that much at all, hoping against hope that he would ignore her tone of voice or miss it entirely.  
  
“I think we can both agree that you should probably use my name instead,” he said with a chuckle of amusement as he nuzzled her neck. She shivered despite herself. “Say it, Tauriel.”  
  
“Say what?”  
  
She tried to relax in his hold, but for some reason she found it oppressing rather than comforting.  
  
Everything about this situation was wrong.  
  
She had lusted after her king, as many other ellith in Mirkwood did, since he was unearthly handsome and so very alluring, but she had never imagined that she would be so stupid as to actually act on said lust. What made the situation even more complicated, if that was actually even possible at this point, was the fact that Thranduil apparently truly had feelings for her. There was no possible scenario in which one of them didn’t end up getting hurt by the end of this morning and she couldn’t help but wonder briefly how much he was going to hate her when he found out that the night they had shared was an unfortunate product of too much Dorwinion wine and her horrific lapse in judgement.  
  
"Say my name," he explained patiently, his voice soft. His fingers travelled up and down her arm before brushing against her side, slowly inching closer to the gentle curve of her hipbone.  
  
Unable to play this charade any longer, she sat up and moved away from him, drawing the covers over her torso so she could cover herself. Modesty was needless when he had already seen all of her, but she couldn’t stop the reflex. It was a protective measure, a barrier that set proper boundaries back into place.  
  
A look of confusion appeared on his face, his eyebrows drawn into a frown.  
  
“Tauriel?” He asked, moving closer to her and reaching out to touch her.  
  
She recoiled as if burned before he could come too close. The flash of hurt in his eyes at her reaction made her swallow thickly, her tongue heavy as lead in her mouth. She opened her mouth to speak, but closed them a moment later when no sound came up.  
  
“Tauriel,” he repeated her name to get her attention, but didn’t try to initiate any contact this time. “ _Meleth_ , what is it?”  
  
“Don’t call me that,” she said finally, her voice sounding foreign to her ears. It was deceptively calm, though she felt anything but as the waves of panic washed over her paralyzed body. “I am no one’s beloved.” She averted her eyes, unable to look at him as she spoke her next words. “This… It was nothing. It meant nothing. I don’t love you. I simply cannot love you…”  
  
Heavy silence fell between them. When she finally glanced back at him a moment later, her very breath got caught in her throat.  
  
He looked as if he was going to fall apart here and there.  
  
In that short span of time, a mere blink of an eye before he managed to collect himself, she saw a multitude of feelings flash through his light blue eyes, one more painful to witness than the other. His suffering was almost tangible in the air between them, so potent and powerful that she felt like crying.  
  
Then it was gone, hidden beneath a mask of cold indifference. She hated this façade of feign calm almost as much as herself.  
  
“Get out,” he said in a voice so void of emotion, it seemed to be actually void of life itself.  
  
She got out of bed as quickly as possible and dressed in a hurry, her back turned to him at all times. She couldn’t force herself to look at him even when she stopped at the door for a brief moment, her steps halting on their own accord. There were words at the tip of her tongue, an endless stream of I’m-sorry and please-forgive-me, but she forced them down and left without voicing them, convinced that she had already said more than enough.  
  
Tears ran down the sides of her face as she made her way to her rooms, barely able to stop herself from running there in her haste to get as far away from the king as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Quel amrun, lirimaer - Good morning, lovely one  
> hir vuin - my lord


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I would like to say something about the Tauriel that I write.
> 
> I strongly believe that she is not always brave and strong, and ready to fight, because no one can truly be like that all the time. I’m simply trying to make her a more believable, three dimensional character instead of making her just a shield maiden. Besides, the Elves of Mirkwood aren’t like other Elves. They are more impulsive, very much driven by their emotions, and prideful to a fault as well. Tauriel is all of that and then some.
> 
> As for those who say that she is not the type of person to run away, I would like to point out that she did run from love in the movies. In the scenes where she gets the runestone from Kili, she basically refuses his feelings and runs from them to the safety of her friendship with Legolas.
> 
> Secondly, I want to apologize for my prolonged absence. I was unable to write anything due to a bad case of writer’s block. Thankfully, it’s over now, so you should expect to see more chapters in the upcoming weeks.
> 
> Lastly, I hope this chapter will shed some light onto the situation between our two main characters, as well as explain at least some of the reasons behind Tauriel’s behaviour in Part 2. 
> 
> On the side note, if you want to strangle me by the end of this chapter, I won’t blame you ;)
> 
> Enjoy and please, don’t forget to comment/review! :)

“ _You left your kiss like a bruise on my lips_  
 _Your fingerprints are tattooed on my skin_  
 _And hush now, don’t cry, build your walls high_  
 _And don’t you dare come creeping in_ ”  
-Ella Henderson, “Beautifully Unfinished”

* * *

 

“Captain?”

She startled at the sound of the voice of one of the guards and the lembas bread, which had been laying in her limp hands, fell onto the ground. She had barely touched it anyhow, so maybe it was for the best. At least now some poor forest creature would have a meal, whereas she would have probably only brought it back with her and promptly forgot about it, as she was often prone to do these days.

Turning her head to the left, she glanced up at her companion and nodded slightly, urging him to continue.

“Shouldn’t we move forward? It’s nearing dusk.”

One look into the sky confirmed his words. The sun, though barely visible through the thick foliage of the trees surrounding them, was clearly moving West. If they didn’t hurry, they were risking a journey through complete darkness and Tauriel didn’t particularly fancy that option. They were close enough to the fortress that the soft light of late winter afternoon was able to shine through the branches and illuminate the remains of snow, which was slowly melting away, but when it died out in a few hours’ time, it would be no better than if they were in much deeper. The darkness reached far when the moon descended onto the sky – far beyond what most of her troop would be comfortable with. Her wardens were well-trained, but mostly young and inexperienced, which was a part of the reason why Tauriel was with them to begin with. It would have been foolish to send them out with anyone less experienced and she highly doubted they would have been as complacent if it wasn’t for her reputation among the King’s Guard.

“Yes, we should. Call the others. We shall move further South-East from here and then we will return.”

“Yes, Captain,” the elf responded and then left, moving swiftly around their makeshift camp.

Tauriel observed him for a while, watching as he moved and listening to his footsteps, which were still too loud. She grimaced when he stepped onto a wayward frozen branch, partially hidden from view by snow, and it snapped loudly underneath his foot. He was going to get himself killed if he didn’t start to work more thoughtfully on his stealth.

Her eyes flickered briefly to the bread, which was still lying in front of her. She hadn’t eaten anything since the supper the day before, but she wasn’t feeling hungry in the slightest. Food was rarely anywhere near the top of the list of priorities during her day, probably because she had more pressing matters to attend and think about.

Time passed quickly.

Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months. Months turned into years.

Before long half a decade went by in a flash, leaving Tauriel wondering on most days if her night with the king has ever happened in the first place. Everything went from bad to worse in such a short amount of time that she could hardly wrap her mind around it.

In the beginning she simply changed her routine. Instead of going to the main hall for the meals, she chose to dine in her chambers.

Delegating her subordinates to the briefings with the king, as well as the council and guard meetings, was easy enough as well. She stopped going to the gardens and the library, and only wandered, rather aimlessly, around the fortress late at night when everyone was asleep. During feasts, it was Faenor’s duty to watch over the king, since Tauriel was often times absent from the celebrations altogether under the guise of some made-up aliment or, if she was actually present for a change, she claimed that she was too exhausted or too drunk to do it. Soon enough her meetings with the king occurred so rarely that she could almost pretend that things have returned to how they were before her life became so horribly complicated.

As fate would have it, every single time this feeling of false security appeared, it was destroyed, because it was virtually impossible to avoid the king forever.

Being in his presence hurt more than anything. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, even when she felt his gaze upon her, burning her alive with its intensity.

Her feelings for him were a mess.

It was hard to decide on most days if what she felt for him was positive or negative, or if it was simply a bizarre mixture of both. She was also incredibly angry, both at him and herself, because even though she was ultimately the one who had used him, he had used her too. To be honest, there was so much bitterness between them – born from years of his acidic words and grievous insults, as well as her own stubbornness and resentment – that she sometimes wondered how was it even possible that he actually cared for her in any way, shape, or form.

He couldn’t love her, she told herself time and time again. He simply couldn’t. She was a nobody; a speck of dust of no significance. And she couldn’t and, most importantly, wouldn’t love him.

She shook her head in an attempt to clear her mind. It would do her no good to focus on her personal problems at a time like this.

The wardens were more or less ready to depart, their heavy grey cloaks blowing lightly in the harsh cold wind. She approached them slowly, pulling the hood of her own cloak over her head to hide her vibrant red hair, which would have stood out too much against the bleak background.

“Standard formation. As Astalder has hopefully already told you, we are going to move further South-East from here,” she told them.

“Is it because of the reports, Captain?” One of the youngest wardens asked with obvious trepidation.

Tauriel grimaced, thinking not for the first time that the gossip mill in the King’s Halls was a bit too proficient for her liking.

“It has crossed my mind as well,” Astalder, the oldest of the bunch, spoke up hesitantly. He was a trustworthy and unfathomably clever young ellon, who rarely ever put her orders into question. When he did though, he usually had a sound reason to do so. This time she could easily understand why he decided to say something.

“Yes,” she acknowledged with a sigh. “An alarming message came from King Bard about two eves ago. A large group of armed Orcs was sighted by his troop of scouts. Their destination was unclear and the troop was careful not to alter them to their presence, nor did they engage them in combat, since they were tremendously outnumbered, but the situation is at least highly unusual, if not simply bizarre. The king ordered two units to investigate and report. Captain Feren’s squad went ahead and they will be covering more ground, though our mission is no less dangerous than theirs.”

She gave each of them a pointed look.

“I would advise you to be more cautious than usual. No talking. No fooling around. No acting before thinking it through. You are young and still in training. I want you to remember that.”

“Yes, Captain,” was the unison answer she got.

They departed a moment later.

The type of formation she has chosen ensured that she could keep an eye on her underlings at all times. Unsurprisingly, they were scared enough to focus all their attention on the mission at hand, which meant that they were as quiet as she wanted them to be.

The forest was calm, almost deadly so. It was odd, to put it lightly, given the time of year, but then again it has been like this ever since the Battle of Five Armies. Still, the lack of pre-spring activity was worrying and Tauriel made a mental note to ask other captains if they had similar experience or if it was simply her overactive imagination, coupled with the deepening paranoia most Woodland Elves were prone to as of late.  
For now, she decided to treat the all-consuming silence as a blessing in disguise, even if it seemed as if it was only a prelude to a fast-approaching mighty storm.

-o-o-o-

The loud voices of the council members, who were arguing as if their very existence depended on it, echoed in the vast chamber they were gathered in for the weekly meeting. The table they sat around was completely covered with splotches of ink, quills of all shapes and sizes, loose pieces of parchment and paper, cups of half-finished tea, and goblets of mulled wine. It was already well past noon and nearing late afternoon, and they have been discussing the matter at hand for hours, coming no closer to any type of solution. The problem they were facing was seemingly quite easy to solve. After all, choosing a suitable gift for a newlywed couple shouldn't be challenging at all.

Unless, of course, the fact that the bride was Sigrid, the oldest child of King Bard, was taken into consideration.  
Though many found it hard to believe and understand, the misanthropic Elvenking actually held King Bard in high regard and the two rulers shared a close friendship, which heavily influenced the political relations between Mirkwood and Dale. This alone meant that the gift for the upcoming nuptials of young Princess Sigrid should be carefully thought upon and planned out. Then there was the on-going conflict of interests between Mirkwood and Erebor, who were quite literally fighting for dominance over the region. It threatened the peace treaty the three neighbouring kingdoms shared and meant more or less that one wrong move could possibly result in a war. The wedding itself was going to take place in early April, so it was still months away, but, given the obstacles and the amount of ideas, one being more outlandish than the other, the preparations were going to be very engaging, time-consuming, and impossibly difficult to handle properly.

“Ordering a necklace for Princess Sigrid would have been a marvellous idea, if we had smiths skilled enough to do it!” One of the council members shouted for the second time within an hour, his cheeks turning an unbecoming shade of purple as a direct result of his ire.

“We could always ask...” Someone else started speaking, but was rudely interrupted mid-sentence.

“Ask Erebor? Have you lost your marbles, by any chance?”

“I detest that statement!”

“We should consider a horse!”

“That’s the most plebeian idea for a wedding gift in the recent millennium!”

“The emissary from Gondor would think us...”

“What about a bracelet?”

“Flowers!”

“I disagree!”

“A jewel case!”

“Our best wine!”

“But King Bard...”

“Herbs!”

“The necklace though!”

“The Dwarves...”

“I approve!”

“No, you do not!”

“Yes!”

“No!”

“Maybe?”

And the madness went on. And on. And on.

To put it mildly, the conversation has turned into a shouting match full of gibberish a good while ago, making the entire meeting quite pointless and a complete waste of time.

At least that’s what Thranduil thought as he listened to and observed the proceedings, wondering if he should simply leave them to it, since his input was obviously neither needed nor required. He has been sitting at the head of the table like a marble statue since early morning and even the third goblet of his favourite vintage wine wasn’t enough to rise his spirits. To be fair, not many things could brighten his sour mood these days.

He grimaced inwardly.

This particular trail of thought was treacherous at best. It brought painful memories of happier, more carefree times to the forefront of his mind and, as expected, reminiscing about what was, what could have been, and what never came to be never failed to put him in a state of melancholy.

He remembered with arduous clarity Gilrin’s beautiful face and how her cheeks dimpled when she smiled at him. She had been the sweetest of creatures in existence, with hair like beams of starlight and eyes in the most endearing shade of light brown. He loved her from the moment he saw her for the first time in the vast gardens of Doriath, bent over a bush of pink roses. In all honesty, he has never stopped loving her, though his feelings have changed over the last few centuries. It was to be expected, given the fact that she was not only dead, but also forever lost to him in more ways than one. She was destined to travel between the realms of life and death for eternity, her fea damaged beyond recognition and thus unable to reunite with his in Aman or in the Halls of Mandos. His love for her was no longer burning with passion, nor was it as all-consuming. It was a ghost of what it used to be, more than anything else.

Shortly after her death, he had considered giving in to his overwhelming grief and fading, but the presence of Legolas kept him from the path of self-destruction.

There was nothing to stop him now, though the situation was different.

Tauriel was alive, after all, even if she was beyond his reach. He couldn’t decide if it was better or worse just yet. Ever since that fateful night they shared, she started to avoid him, putting distance between them to the point where their current relationship could only be described as non-existent. Strangely enough, he was content with it. He missed her companionship, her laughter, and her sharp humour, but he understood why she was doing it and, although she wouldn’t believe him, he also loved her too much to torment her.

No matter how hard he would try to deny it, he changed much over the last couple of decades. He had been angry at her at first for the flame she unwittingly ignited, because it was a profanation of the sacred memory of his wife. She crept into his heart like a thief, ready to take away all he had to offer. His unwillingness to admit to himself the true nature of his feelings for the spirited elleth was the main cause of his dreadful manner towards her and the cruel way in which he had treated her. Finally coming to terms with his raging emotions after the Battle of Five Armies had mellowed him somewhat. He could freely admit to himself that he had lifted her banishment and allowed her back into his kingdom mostly because of his love for her. It was selfish of him to do so, but he couldn’t bring himself to abandon her.

If only he had been more careful with her.

If only he hadn’t scared her away.

If only he hadn’t let his heart take over that night.

If only, if only, if only.

Now he was paying for his foolishness and inconsideration tenfold, all because he had reached for her too quickly instead of giving her time.

Consumed by the inner turmoil and boiling with a sudden burst of red-hot anger, he squeezed his crystal goblet too tightly and it burst, cutting him deeply and spilling wine mixed with blood all over.

The chamber fell silent. For long minutes no one dared to move nor speak, more out of shock than anything else. Then Thranduil rose swiftly from his seat, making the ornate wooden chair hit the floor with a resounding bang. He marched out of the chamber and onto the adjacent balcony without saying a word, his injured hand still holding onto a few broken pieces of glass, which dug painfully into his palm.

He heard the commotion that followed his abrupt departure, but he paid little attention to the whispering of the surprised council members, who were being ushered out of the chamber by his personal guards as quickly as possible. He had had enough of their idiocy for one day and was truly thankful that he wouldn’t have to endure more of it, but the silence, which followed the councilmen’s exit, wasn’t as comforting as he expected. If anything, it only made his already bad mood worse. As he stood in the crisp cold light of winter sun, breathing harshly through the nose, he felt incredibly lost.

His wife died. His son left him. His love for Tauriel wasn’t enough to keep her close. His kingdom was peaceful for now, but the approaching war would change that soon enough. Everything around him seemed to perish or disappear as if touched by some foul spell of dark magic and he had no control over it whatsoever.

“My lord?”

He turned around abruptly, startled by the unexpected interruption. The motion caused him to flex the fingers of his injured hand and he hissed in pain through clenched teeth before bringing the bloody limb up and cradling it against his chest.

“What? ” He all but barked at Lord Elhael, his friend and most-trusted advisor, who stood in the entrance to the balcony, looking at him with a mixture of concern and puzzlement in his light grey eyes. “What do you want?”

“I stayed behind to keep you company, Sire,” Elhael replied with a shallow bow. “Please, do excuse my forwardness. I simply assumed you would appreciate the presence of a kindred soul. I will leave, if it is your wish.”

Thranduil said nothing in response. He simply stood there, seemingly frozen in place, and looked at Elhael with an unreadable expression for a long while. Then he sighed heavily and walked back into the chamber, beckoning his companion to follow him with a barely visible nod of his head. The ellon did so soundlessly, coming to a stop only when Thranduil took a seat in one of the many chairs scattered around the enormous table.

“Sit with me, mellon,” Thranduil finally said, his voice strangely calm and void of emotion.

Elhael did as he was told, though not without a hint of hesitation.

“I am in no mood to talk, but know that your presence is highly appreciated.”

“Is that so?” His advisor questioned. “For I believe you do need to speak.”

Thranduil laughed at his words, though it lacked mirth and seemed rather forced.

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. “ He closed his eyes for a moment, as if overpowered by sudden exhaustion. “It is of no importance either way.”

“Do you truly believe it, Sire?” Was the immediate response. “You carry your worries like a cloak of thorns. With each step you try to get away from them, but the thorns dig into your skin and hurt you more than is their due. Ignoring them won’t help. You have been doing so for centuries and it got you nowhere.”

Thranduil’s eyes snapped open and he winced as if struck, but didn’t say anything.

“It is time to shed that cloak, mellon. You cannot hide behind your past forever. It will sooner kill you than release you willingly from its deadly grasp.” Elhael pressed on. “The council wants you to reconsider remarrying once again, as I’m sure you’re aware. Talks of war make them skittish and they worry for the future of the kingdom. The crown is weakened and, ever since the prince left, there is no heir to the throne. I was supposed to convince you to agree, but I’m not willing to do so for the sake of the kingdom.” He paused and looked Thranduil in the eye meaningfully. “I will do it for your sake though, because you need someone to share the burden of the crown with you and you know I’m right.”

“You know not what you speak about!” The king snarled, slamming his good hand on the surface of the table. “I said it before and I will say it again if need be – I do not need another wife! I won’t defile the memory of Gilrin with... With...”

“Nobody is asking you to replace Lady Gilrin,” Elhael said quietly. “Nobody is asking you to love someone else either.”

“Then what is expected of me? A loveless marriage of convenience?” Thranduil asked bitterly. “Have my people become cruel? Do they relish in my suffering? You come to me under the guise of friendship, Elhael of Doriath, but your intention is not to help me. The cloak of thorns you spoke of was put on my shoulders by my duty to this accused land. I no longer wish to suffer for the sake of the greater good!”

“If you think all of this, then I rest my case,” Elhael replied and stood up, his stance defiant and tense with anger.”Her death made you bitter and cruel, my friend, and I knew it already, but I haven’t realized it has also stripped you of your wits.”

“What?” Thranduil was not expecting that and his bewildered expression was a testimony to it.

“You heard me.” There was a note of disappointment in his voice, which was more hurtful than the earlier anger. “The council still wants you to consider it, no matter how vehemently you decline or how many times I tell them this is a pointless endeavour. Eru only knows that this kingdom needs stability and it has none at the moment.”

With those words Elhael was gone from the chamber, slamming the doors behind him for good measure and leaving the king in a state of utter confusion.

-o-o-o-

A curse left her lips when the Orcish sword sliced easily through the armour protecting her abdomen and cut right into her side, leaving behind a long bloody gash. She somehow managed to turn around just in time to decapitate the Orc before it could do more damage or actually kill her. Afterwards she wiped the blade on the edge of her cloak, noting with grim satisfaction the smudge of black it left behind on the thick fabric. As she straightened and sheathed her weapon, a violent shudder went through her entire body. She pressed both of her now free hands against the recent injury before slowly moving forward, blood slipping through her fingers. Her steps were unsteady and she had to slump against a tree a few times to rest. Everything seemed blurry and out of focus, but she could hardly stop.

It had been an ambush, much too cleverly planned out to be the work of Orcs and no one else beside them. She had no clue as to who would have wanted to conspire with the vile creatures, disgusting and untrustworthy as they were, but she was going to find out. It was a promise she intended to keep no matter what for the sake of the young warden who was killed first, right in front of her eyes. She could still see the look of surprise on his face as he fell to the ground, choking on his own blood and silently calling for help that didn’t come soon enough.

“Oh, Astalder,” she thought grimly, filled with sorrow over his tragic demise. “What has become of you, mellon?”

She knew not if he was the only casualty on their side, but she prayed for it to be true. She didn’t want to even think of encountering more deaths of her kin, though she realized it was a possibility she couldn’t rule out just yet. The sudden but not unwelcomed arrival of Captain Feren and his squad right before she got separated from the group and lost track of them completely hopefully tipped the scales in their favour.

They were still painfully outnumbered though.

This fact alone worried Tauriel to no end, making her already frail body tremble with fear for the outcome of the battle.

She yelped in surprise when her foot got caught on the protruding root of a tree. If she was in a better shape and not wounded so severely, she would have been able to keep her balance. As it was, she had no strength left and so she fell onto the ground, hitting her head hard against one of the stones, which littered the forest floor much like fallen leaves did in autumn.

Her eyes somehow found the small glimpse of the pale blue sky in-between the branches right above and she smiled brokenly. She found it strangely comforting as it brought a stray and yet fond thought of the king to the forefront of her mind, because his eyes were the very same shade of blue.

Unconsciousness claimed her a moment later and she welcomed it with open arms, wondering briefly if he would miss her when she was gone.


End file.
